The Devil's armour

57

The morning surprised Lukien with its chill. He could see his breath and the breath of his horse, standing dutifully as he strapped supplies to its saddle with the help of Aric Glass, one of the last to remain behind in Borath. Breck’s old farm had been a good hiding place for them, and although Thorin knew of its existence he and his Norvans had not come looking for them. Rather, he had tolerated them, allowing them all to recover, obviously feeling no threat from them at all. Lukien was grateful for the lull. Barely three hundred troops had survived Thorin’s attack, most of whom had gathered here at Breck’s former home, a humble and overgrown patch of long-neglected land. Breck’s wife Kalla had done her best to make them all comfortable. Though of course their tiny house could barely hold a fraction of them, mostly it sheltered the wounded like Lukien.

With Kalla’s help, Lukien had recovered. As the days went by he watched as his comrades left for Reec and Farduke, places far enough away to be safe from Thorin and any retribution he might hatch. He was the last of them to leave now, except for Aric, who had stayed behind with Mirage while Lukien recovered. Mirage had remained aloof, however, only coming to Lukien on occasion and only then to check on him briefly. While he had lain in bed, Lukien had thought of Mirage often. But he had not changed his mind.

‘It’s a long road to Ganjor,’ said Aric as he secured Lukien’s saddle. For more than a week now he had tried to convince the knight to let him come. ‘To be honest, you don’t look all that well yet.’

They were just outside Kalla’s house. Lukien had already said his goodbyes to the widow and her son. She had not come to draw out the farewell, a small act of kindness Lukien appreciated.

‘You are right, Aric Glass, I am not well. But I must go. I’ve wasted enough time, and the sword is waiting.’

The mention of the sword tantalised Aric. Like Lukien, he was convinced it remained the only way to save his father. He nodded, distractedly toying with Lukien’s supplies, counting them for the third time.

‘That’s everything,’ Lukien declared. He had left his bronze armour with Kalla. It was damaged anyway, and far too heavy to take with him back to Grimhold.

‘The Mistress Minikin; do you think she’ll help you?’ Aric asked.

Lukien shrugged. So far, Minikin had neglected to tell him anything about the Serpent Kingdom or the sword. Perhaps like Amaraz, she simply didn’t know.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Lukien. ‘But she’s a good woman. She’ll help me if she can.’

‘It’ll take you at least a month to get to Ganjor,’ said Aric. ‘Then another week to cross the desert.’

‘At least that long,’ Lukien agreed. He smiled at his young friend. ‘But I still can’t take you with me, Aric. You need to go with the others. I’ll see you again when I have the sword. Tell the others that — tell them I will return.’

Aric nodded gravely. ‘I’ll tell them.’ His eyes flicked toward the house. ‘Look.’

Turning toward the broken homestead, Lukien saw Mirage in the doorway, staring at them. Though her magic was intact, her sad face had lost its beauty. He had tried to convince her not to go to Thorin, but he knew that she would. As soon as he rode away, she would go to him. Wondering if he would ever see her again, Lukien raised his hand in farewell.

Mirage smirked sadly, turned, and went back into the house.

The gesture chilled Lukien. For a moment he could not speak. He looked at Aric, who reddened in embarrassment. Then he mounted his horse. Still in pain from his many wounds, the effort wearied him. He recovered quickly though and grinned at Aric, one of his only friends left in the world.

‘Goodbye, Aric Glass,’ he said. ‘Take care of yourself. I will see you again when I can.’

Still kept alive by the amulet around his neck, the Bronze Knight of Liiria rode away, heading south to find the hidden Sword of Angels.